


Colours

by PastelJellyfishGuts



Series: House of Yellow and Black [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry potter is both an old man and a child at once., He just steals and breaks rules when it's convenient for him and also he likes to use scare tactics, He likes sensory stuff, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Please give him a hug., Swearing, just a little though, they're going to make mistakes., what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelJellyfishGuts/pseuds/PastelJellyfishGuts
Summary: Harry Potter loves to cook, loves the happiness on people's faces after a good meal, loves the release of flavours on his tongue.But he's tired.So, very tired.(A rewrite of harry potter from someone who hasn't read or watched it.)(This is just something relatively wholesome and nice.)(Also, trans rights are human rights, fuckers)(Admittedly, that statement has nothing to do with this fic, but it's a good message!)
Series: House of Yellow and Black [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846504
Comments: 5
Kudos: 161





	Colours

**Pear**

The crackle of bacon on a pan, the soft, clinging scent of toast, the sizzle of egg hitting the leftover oil.

They were his favourite things.

He would stare at the food cooking in the pan, making sure none of it burnt, and take it off the heat when he thought it was sufficiently cooked.

He wouldn’t get to eat any of it though.

Only on good days would he ever get a taste of his work.

He didn’t mind as much as he probably should have.

One time, he was allowed to make whatever he wanted.

Once.

-

The first time was when he was ten, Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had left to go to the theme park for Dudley’s birthday. Dudley would laugh at him from behind the back of Aunt Petunia as he was listening to the instructions that Aunt Petunia was setting him.

No waste of food, no going inside their rooms, no leaving the house and _be quiet._

“I’d better not see a mess when we come back or else there won’t be any food for you, boy.”

He nodded, clinging to her words.

“You can make whatever you want for yourself whilst we’re gone, but no funny business.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

He spoke, quiet and almost reverent.

He looked up at the woman, eyes burning and so very thankful- and she flinched back, ever so slightly.

She sneered and walked out of the house, the slam of the door ringing in his ears.

With little fanfare, other than Dudley’s screaming laugh mocking him, they left and suddenly a weight that felt like it was splintering his spine lifted.

He could make whatever he wanted and eat it too.

He could-

He breathed in sharply.

Dazed, he shuffled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, staring at the contents.

All his for the next hour or so.

He decided to be practical.

Store as much food as he could without it seeming suspicious, and eat something if he could.

He had been to the library and knew some stuff about food and eating, namely that he wasn’t supposed to eat too much after not being able to eat as much as needed. Nothing too greasy if anything something bland and safe. You could even die from it if you weren’t careful enough. He had come across ‘nutrition’ on the library computer when he was looking for recipes for his notebook.

Apparently the ‘almost dying’ was called ‘Refeeding Syndrome’ and lots of people had died from it. He became slightly interested, although it was more concern than anything, since he knew the situation he was in. It was called ‘Abuse’ and ‘Neglect’ and they could be taken to the police for this.

He didn’t want to alert the authorities though. He had spent so long learning the rules here, he just couldn’t lose everything so quickly and even then, with the evidence, there was the chance that they wouldn’t be arrested and he wasn’t comfortable having someone out there who would hate him.

With a soft sigh, he took out some butter and toast.

He cut a chunk into the pan and watched the butter melt. Once that was done, he immediately put the bread into the pan and pulled out some bacon and eggs.

He pushed the slice of bread onto a plate and cooked the bacon.

He put the butter back into the fridge and waited for the bacon to cook, flipping it over occasionally.

When the bacon became crisp, he put the two pieces on top of the slice of bread and cracked eggs into the pan. The whites cooked with a sizzle and he let them cook on a lower heat.

Once they were done, he shifted them on top the bacon and toast, sprinkling flaky salt and freshly ground pepper on top of them and putting the plate onto the table.

He placed everything back into the fridge and pantry, making sure to reseal the bacon and bread, and pulled out cutlery, with a glass of milk _and a straw._

He poured the milk into the glass and smiled happily, gazing at the food for a moment before slowly cutting himself a bite. Hesitantly, he ate it and chewed, the salty flavours almost an assault on his tastebuds, but not necessarily unwelcome. He swallowed and drank some milk _from the straw._

He giggled a little and kicked his legs under the table. He ate bite after bite and kept going. Once he was finished, he still wanted to eat more but he held himself back. He wasn’t about to risk hospitalisation from eating too much.

He drank his milk, feeling just a little more sated, and sighed.

He put everything into the sink and started washing up, making sure to clean the plates extra hard so that they wouldn’t make him wash the plates again. He left the plate, cutlery and glass on the drying rack to put in the pantry later on and shifted around in the pantry to look for something that he could stash in his room.

He had found a floorboard in his room that came loose where he could store food, and he had cleaned it out to use. He currently had a twenty pound note, a button, a particularly pretty rock and a recipe book stolen from the school library in it.

He hummed and found a bunch of granola bars from when Aunt Petunia had tried to push Dudley on a diet in it. He doubted she would mind if he stole one. Or four.

She never checked this part of the pantry anyway, so it wasn’t like she would _look._

He stared into the pantry a little more.

Better to be safe than sorry since Aunt petunia was always caution when it came to him.

He took two.

He carried on in such fashion and ended up with four packets of crisps (one from each flavour), a plastic bag of an assortment of cereal (a handful or two from each box), the granola bars and four bottles of water.

He hid everything in the floorboard and took a drink of water from a bottle before placing that too, under the floorboards.

He put the now-dried plate, cutlery and glass into the Cabinet and looked at the clock. It read 12 pm. Something felt off. He knew they said that they would be back by eight pm but he couldn’t help but feel something, tugging in his gut, telling him that they’d be back much sooner. He should probably stay in his from 3 pm.

He went upstairs and went into Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s room. He saw change out of the corner of his eye and stole a few particularly shiny pennies.

Next he went into Dudley’s room, taking as many books as he felt wouldn’t be missed. He had to carefully look through all the titles and check the insides to see if there were notes from someone, or if Aunt Petunia would look for it for Dudley’s school things.

He ran back downstairs, feeling something in his gut and quickly stumbled into his cupboard. Shutting the door, he couldn’t hear anything from the driveway but still stuffing everything under the floorboard. He clicked the floorboard over the hole and laid in his bed, under his duvet for the next ten minutes. He was ten, and short for his age yet his feet hung over the edge-

Then he heard the roar of a car pulling up to the house and a click of the keys in the door. He felt cold and sick at the same time. They said they weren’t coming back until 8 pm but it made sense how they would lie to him, if only to catch him off guard and try to find a reason to punish him.

He swallowed, heavily and his hands shook slightly.

He pressed them against the bed and laid there, breathing heavily. With a final, slow sigh, he forced himself to relax. His shoulders loosened and he almost looked dead if it weren’t for the beat of the duvet over his chest rising and lowering.

“Check on the boy.” He heard the voice of Uncle Vernon say right before the door to his cupboard was ripped open and silence reigned for what felt like the next hour. The door shut and he could hear the screaming of Dudley, who was loudly complaining about the fact that he had to come back home.

He didn’t move even as the door shut, and the footsteps shuffled away. Neither did he move when the car engine started up again and they drove away. He stayed like that for a good while, not registering when tears started to leak from his eyes until he opened them.

Once he crawled out of his cupboard, surveying the area, he crawled back in with a shuddering breath and began to sob.

He drank the rest of the water and went upstairs, to go to the toilet. He washed his hands and splashed his face with some water, dying himself off with a towel and went back into the cupboard, falling asleep in his bed from exhaustion.

-

-

**Chartreuse**

He was picking up letters for Uncle Vernon and found one addressed to him. In the cupboard under the stairs. He stuffed it inside his shirt and spent the day with a stiff piece of paper scratching him as he weeded the garden and cleaned the house.

He went inside his room, at 10 pm and turned off the light. He turned on a small torch and read the letter, it said:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed, a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on the 1 st of September. We await your owl by no later than the 31st of July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

He ran his fingers over the hardened ink and stared at the letter. It was a prank. Even if some unexplainable things happened to him, like his hair growing back or him always seemingly ending up on the school roof when Dudley and his friends were out to hunt him, he wasn’t about to believe a letter.

Over the next few days, he felt frustration build up like a bubbling volcano in his chest. He kept finding letters everywhere! It was _ridiculous._

He snarled in the garden as a letter clung to the root of the weed.

Whoever was sending him the letters was clearly uncaring of the legal consequences of planting things in someone else’s house.

He sighed, the bubbling anger draining out of him, and resolved to send a letter back. Perhaps to humour them, if not, then to tell them to stop. He felt heat some to his palms at the release of anger and he quickly clamped the feeling down. The only other time when heat had come to his palms was when he was about to set something on fire.

He felt sparks extinguish in his palm and he breathed out cold relief.

He finished his chores without any more letters coming his way.

-

In his room, he wrote a letter, hastily claiming that _yes, he would like to join Hogwarts_ and signed it with his name.

He crept outside of his cupboard and slipped it under the door.

The next day, it was gone.

He forgot about it for the rest of the holiday.

-

-

**Shamrock**

He stood, eyes betraying surprise when a lady asked for –“Harry Potter”- to come to the door to be taken to Hogwarts. He glanced at Aunt Petunia and she didn’t look at him. He walked to her and said with a quiet voice,

“I’m Harry Potter ma’am,” he swallowed and stood there staring at her in the perfect picture of awe and anxiety.

She nodded at him and he nodded back, ever so slightly. She cast her gaze on the remaining people in the room, Aunt Petunia was having a near-breakdown and Uncle Vernon was shaking, his face slowly growing redder and redder. He frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down.

He didn’t like red.

-

He stood, in Madame Malkin’s, and met a boy. ‘Draco Malfoy’ he called himself. He just hummed in agreement to whatever he said, seemingly not paying attention.

-

He stood on the train platform, his Aunt and Uncle having left a while ago. Looking up, he saw what he assumed was the platform 9 and ¾. His assumption was confirmed when he saw a redheaded boy run through the brick pillar, seemingly disappearing on the other side.

He followed, walking through and blinking at the glimmer of light that met with his trolley.

He breathed in, sharp, cutting and harsh and stared at the train. It was an old steam train. He climbed on, and pushed all of his luggage save for a leather bag on to the shelf of the nearest empty carriage.

He sat down, hands on the bag, and pulled out a book. A school textbook named ‘Magical Drafts and Potions’. Potion-making seemed to have a lot in common with cooking and so he was quite interested.

As he read the textbooks, he saw a lot of correlations between the magical world and magic-less worlds. It was curious, that some things weren’t used for magical potions when they could be used for non-magical things.

Like flour. It was a thickener and adding it to water or liquid in general would make it thicker and more sludge-like and yet they were recommending slugs, and not even enough slugs to actually thicken the mixture into a paste of some sort, just enough to make it a thick liquid. Maybe there was some other reason they added no more than four slugs?

He sighed a little carrying on with the book in a similar fashion.

“Um, sorry to interrupt, but have you seen a toad?”

“What?” he snapped, irritated that he had been interrupted when he was having a good read.

He looked up, seeing a pudgy child, who’s face seemed wrought with worry and anxiety. He looked incredibly frightened and he felt the annoyance fall away.

“S-sorry, I was just asking if you’d seen a toad-” the boy was interrupted as a loud voice made him grip the edge of his book tighter.

“Neville, where are you?”

Harry sighed, “No, I’m sorry, I’m just really stressed. I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that.” He said and the other boy-Neville- seemed to relax slightly.

“Oh hello, have you seen a toad around here?” A girl had peeked over Neville’s shoulder, staring at him.

He shrugged in response to her question.

“No. Wouldn’t there be a spell for that though?”

She huffed and said, “Yes, well I’m quite new here so I haven’t learnt any spells.”

“Oh. Okay then. If you don’t have anything more to say, please leave.”

He turned back to his book and registered the door sliding shut before the carriage was silent again.

Then someone else opened the door.

Dear Lord, please help him have patience.

He smiled sickly sweet at the intruders.

“Hello, was there something you needed?” His voice practically dripped honey and syrup.

“Yes, I heard that there was Harry Potter on this train. Did you happen to see him?”

He looked up and saw the blonde-haired boy.

Ah, so it was the ‘Draco Malfoy’ from the shop.

He shrugged and went back to his book. With an annoyed huff, the boy also left with his two friends.

The rest of the train ride went in relative silence, with the occasional person coming in to ask him if the seats were taken to which he replied that _‘Yes, they are. Sorry.’_

By the end, he’s read through three books and his mind was decently adjusted enough to not have a breakdown from the sudden shift in his perspective of the world.

He changed when he heard that they were to be in Hogwarts soon and bought a chocolate éclair from the trolley.

He walked off the train, luggage in tow and followed the group of students, not talking to any in particular.

-

-

**Harlequin**

“Harry Potter!”

He walks out, and he can hear the gasps and murmurs of children who don’t see him as a person.

He supposes it’s fair, since they’re all only eleven.

He doesn’t really see them as people either.

He sits on the stool and the hat is placed upon his head.

_Well, well, well, Look who we have here! Harry Potter himself._

He sighs.

‘Hello, could you explain the houses to me?’

The hat laughs, loud and booming in his head and he wonders if his head really is that empty and large for it’s laugh to echo so much.

_Alright then, I shall._

He smiles a little.

_Gryffindor values courage, bravery, nerve, and chivalry._

_Hufflepuff values hard work, patience, justice, and loyalty._

_Ravenclaw values intelligence, learning, wisdom and wit._

_And…_

_Slytherin values ambition, cunning, leadership, and resourcefulness._

He frowns _. ‘Why did you pause?’_

_Well, it’s because they have a terrible reputation for turning evil._

_‘Oh.’_

_“Oh” indeed._

He kicks his legs a little.

_‘I don’t mind you putting me in Slytherin you know? Really, I don’t. I just want to be happy and I’m sure I’ll be able to achieve that whichever house I go into.’_

The hat laughs again, quieter this time.

He grins.

_A healthy thirst for knowledge and a douse of curiosity, with the determination and bravery to rival Godric Himself!_

Harry outright laughed at this, causing people to quiet their whispers.

_‘But?’_

The Hat sighs this time _, But I think you would also do well in Slytherin and Hufflepuff, with your cunning, ambitions that never cease and your endless kindness and patience._

_‘So what now?’_

_Well, that means you may choose._

_‘Choose?’_

_Yes. You can choose whichever house you wish to enter._

He thought.

_‘What…do I want?’_

_Isn’t that a question we all ask ourselves?_

_‘I want…’_

He wanted to not be hungry, not be hurt, he wanted to be friends with everyone and to be normal, like everyone else. But he also wanted to have fun.

_‘I want to be in Hufflepuff.’_

The hat laughed, loud and clear, with no shuddering echo.

He felt like laughing a little too.

_Hufflepuff it is!_

“Hufflepuff!”

-

-

**Lime**

He’s met with a large kitchen and he breathes in the air, sharp and tangy. Then he realises he’s crying.

It’s a kitchen.

He can make whatever he wants.

He doesn’t have to ask, and he doesn’t have to be hungry anymore.

He smiles and laughs, sweet and saccharine, as tears fall from his eyes and it chimes in the room in time with his shaking shoulders.


End file.
